


The Deal

by Indigo55



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, between FB I & FB II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 14:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16725432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo55/pseuds/Indigo55
Summary: IN FB II CofG, Newt and Pickett look to be inseparable, as it should be.Decided to show how that happened.SPOILERS FOR Fantastic Beasts II - The Crimes of Grindelwald





	The Deal

Pickett awoke from a nap in solid darkness. He hadn't meant to, he thought sleepily, but it looked like he'd fallen asleep in a pocket again. He wondered what time of day it was.

Peering out from his cozy lair, he quickly ascertained that he was in an overcoat pocket which at present was not being worn but hung on a hook just off his tree's study. He was annoyed with himself now – his ideal practice was to stay with his tree as much as possible, as every bowtruckle should. But if he was asleep, he knew Newt would never disturb him if he could help it.

With the spike of irritation, Pick wished his tree wasn't always so "good" to him…and then, the muddled feeling wearing off, he recalled his decision to have The Talk. So what time was it, and where could he expect to find his tree at this moment?

The sound of bustling to his right, where the entrance to the basement was, drew his attention. The Bunty came into view, carrying a tray of many small clear containers; he recognized what could be frog-spawn for feeding. So that meant it was around mealtime. Which meal? How long had he been napping? Um, he remembered having breakfast last, a particularly tasty selection of woodlice provided by Newt himself. Maybe that was why he'd fallen asleep to begin with, he'd eaten a bit too much because the lice were so good. His Newt-tree had this knack for giving him the best-tasting food, which the Bunty didn't…it wasn't that she gave him bad stuff, she didn't, not at all, but his tree could somehow determine which lice would be tastiest to a bowtruckle, and from him, that was what Pick got. _How does he do that?_ he wondered.

Well, the Bunty should be able to tell him where his tree was. He chirped loudly to get her attention, climbing out of the pocket, vividly visible as bright green against gray. She glanced up from setting her loaded tray down on a workbench. “Is that where you’ve been all day, Pickett?” she cried. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to. It’s almost time to eat and I’ve been told to see to you.” She crossed the room to him and extended a hand. “On you hop. Let’s find some woodlice.”

Like everyone else, except his tree, the Bunty did not speak Bowtrucklish. But they had methods of communicating they’d worked out. He obediently leapt to the witch’s outstretched hand, and, standing tall at his full eight inches, began to cheep and gesture in ways the Bunty would know as “Where is my tree?” She gave a quick nod of understanding. Pickett was a favorite of hers; he was very cute, she could communicate with him, he wasn’t nearly as much trouble as say, the nifflers, with their proclivity for ransacking the entire place every chance they got, and he wasn’t a biter, either. (Not that she’d ever let slip that she didn’t absolutely adore every living creature in the entire house. That might not be well-received by, as well as unfathomable to, her employer.)

"He’s gone out, to the Ministry,” she told him, holding him at eye level, “I think it’s another meeting about his travel status. Merlin’s hat, this must be the third or fourth…” She shook her head, but Pick knew the Bunty was really quite pleased about his Newt-tree being forbidden to go far since they got back from across the Water. She liked having him around. The bowtruckle thought he knew what was going on there but chose not to explore that. Humans could be very complicated.

The Bunty was reaching for the bag of woodlice when Pickett shook his headleaves. Since he’d had such a big breakfast, he wasn’t very hungry yet, even though it was lunchtime. She frowned slightly. “Not hungry? Well, all right then, but if he asks, make sure you tell him lunch was offered. I can’t have him thinking I’m neglecting you. Just tell me if you get hungry, little fellow.” And she smiled at him kindly. Pick chirruped clearly in the affirmative and bounced off across the room. He had to find a place to wait for his Newt-tree, so he would see him right away when he got back. They had to talk about something.

At last he settled on a spot right in the center of Newt’s desk, right next to where the Bunty had left the morning post. This should be perfect. Surveying the small stack of letters, he wondered why it was called the post. It didn’t look anything like a post to him. Yes, humans were complex…sometimes downright strange. But that was okay, where his tree was concerned. Just about everything about his tree was fine with Pickett…except what they had to talk about. It had taken him a while to come to his decision about this, but he knew they had to get this settled, once and for all. He had a very strong feeling that he was going to get what he wanted, after this. He had worked out his argument very carefully. He knew his tree respected that, well-thought-out reasons. Surely, he would be willing to listen. He had thought and thought (not the easiest thing for a bowtruckle to do) and taken his time. Now, he was ready.

After another twenty minutes had passed, Pickett heard the front door open. Then the familiar voice called, “BUNTY! I’m home!” and his tiny heart in his narrow chest began to beat faster. This was it! He had to convince Newt, he just had to…and he would!

Pick heard him undoubtedly shedding a garment just outside the door to his office/study. It had been explained to him once about humans and “clothes”. He thought it sounded like a lot of work, but he could understand not wanting to be cold. It was too bad that humans couldn’t just climb into warm pockets like he could. He steadied himself and began to focus on what he had to say…

…and his Newt-tree popped thru the doorway. To Pick’s dismay, his tree was wearing a serious frown. Not in a good mood, then. He guessed that Newt had been told he couldn’t leave again, if he had been to a meeting about his travels. He had had a lot of those meetings. But it didn’t seem to be doing any good. He considered for a second putting off The Talk, if his tree was already not happy. Seeing if he could get his tree to be happy again was always his natural first priority. Then Newt saw him on the desk, and his expression changed instantly to a smile. _Just seeing me pleases him,_ the bowtruckle thought, and felt very proud. If his Newt-tree was happy to see him, he must be doing a good job at being his bowtruckle. “Pickett,” he said softly, gazing at a spot just to Pick's left, “where did you get off to this morning? I missed you.”

“I fell asleep in the pocket,” Pick answered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Did you go to the Minis-tree-place?”

“I did,” Newt answered, sitting down at his desk and drawing the pile of mail towards him. “Bunty tell you, did she?”

“She did.”

His wizard-tree now busied himself with looking over the pieces of parchment called the post. It was another thing Pickett really didn’t understand. There were pieces of parchment inside pieces of parchment; it would be easier just to use one piece, he thought. He watched Newt give only the briefest glances at the pieces…except one. With that one, it being a nice warm creamy color, he paused and seemed to feast on it; he stared at it, his eyes going wide and focused. Pick smiled to himself. He knew who that piece was from. He knew it from its color, and from the way his Newt-tree was looking at it. This was the best! He knew every time his tree got one of these pieces, he would be in a really good mood for _days_. Perfect for his plan!

Biding his time, Pick nonchalantly climbed onto the bookshelf over the desk and positioned himself so that he was slightly higher than eye level with his tree. This, he had found, was somehow helpful when he was conversing with Newt and trying to persuade him of something. He watched his tree open the piece of parchment (barely repressing a desire to rip it open as fast as he could), unfold the inner parchment (so wasteful!) and begin to interpret the strange markings on it. Newt had explained this too, once…it was called "writing", and his tree did it all the time. (Pick had been one of the first to see the "print" of Newt's "book", too. Newt had opened it on his desk and had Pick stand on it, looking down at the incomprehensible dark jots beneath his three tiny feet. Newt insisted he and other humans could look at the marks and know that they meant something. Pickett privately thought this was so incredible that maybe his Newt-tree was making it up.)

But he was obviously getting something out of the markings on the creamy parchment. He scanned it eagerly; after the first time, he did it again, and yet again, each time with more enjoyment. The sheet was full of markings on both sides. As he finished the third time, he was smiling in a way that Pick rarely saw…he was totally entranced with the parchment.

While Pickett had not really liked the Tina at first, his opinion had swung completely to the other side as he realized how happy she made Newt. Anything that made his tree happy made Pick happy. He was even beginning to hope that this could lead to a huge step forward in Newt-happiness: his tree might take a mate. Having a good mate was very, very important to overall continuing happiness, the bowtruckle knew. If his tree took a good mate, as the Tina was looking to be, his job would be much easier.

Then Pick remembered: The Talk. It had to happen. And this was as good a time as any to have it.

He began, "That's from the Tina, isn't it?"

"It is." Newt, roused from a contented reverie, looked a little surprised. "You can tell?"

Pickett resisted rolling his eyes and simply said, "She makes you happy." This made his tree beam gently. "Do you have some time?" the bowtruckle continued. "I want to have a talk."

"Oh. Erm, well, yes. Sure, Pick. Is everything okay? You did get lunch?"

"The Bunty offered it but I'm not hungry," he said dutifully. "This is about something else…" The Bunty chose that moment to put in an appearance at the doorway, with a tray of human food. Pickett felt slightly frustrated.

"Everyone's got lunch, except this one," she said, nodding at the bowtruckle as she placed the tray on the desk. "He said he wasn't hungry." She looked at his tree with that way she had, as if she was trying to absorb him. "How did the meeting go?"

"The same as always," Newt half-growled. _Oh, no,_ thought Pick, _she's got him thinking about that again. He'll get unhappy._ But his tree looked down at the letter still in his hand, and, Pick was relieved to see, his smile returned. Then he said, "Bunty, as always it's kind of you to make me lunch, but please, you know I don't expect it. It's not part of your job to look after me."

This was an exchange repeated almost every day; Pickett thought his tree should know better and save his breath. The Bunty had been doing Newt-care in addition to creature-care ever since she'd come to the house to help Newt, and that had been for quite a while now. She always did more than was expected of her; not just feeding Newt, she would come early and stay late, and do all the work with the creatures she possibly could (and try to do some she really couldn't). It seemed her goal was to make it so Newt would hardly have to do anything himself at all. Pick could understand wanting to care for and help Newt, he appreciated the Bunty's contribution to this, his own work; but he didn't get why she would do things that were plainly not wise for her to do, such as trying to deal with creatures that only Newt could safely handle, that he _told_ her to leave to him. Why did she keep trying to treat the kelpie, for example? It always bit her, sometimes badly; and there were times he knew even his Newt-tree was challenged by it. _"Supposedly" he can safely handle,_ Pick thought. _Why does he fool around with a creature like that? Just to get a ride on its back now and then?_

Once, Pick remembered, his tree had tried to firmly insist to the Bunty that she stop doing all the extra things she did. Her reaction had been to get rather upset, so upset that Newt backed off: he didn't want to upset her or hurt her feelings. He was really quite fond of her, and grateful to her, too.

The Bunty didn't answer Newt when he told her not to do things for him; she never really did, except to toss off a short, "Oh, it's no bother." That was what she said now: "I made it for myself, it was no trouble to make it for you, too." Then, a little abruptly, she followed up with, "Well. You did want to reinforce the silencing charms on the fwoopers this afternoon?" Pick saw she had noticed the letter too. He had the feeling she knew who it was from just as he had. He also had the feeling it didn't make her happy.

"Yes, in a while," his tree answered, carefully folding the parchment back up and putting it back into the outer parchment. He wore his _Have it your way, Bunty,_ expression, one of affectionate exasperation. "After I eat, then. Hm, this looks good. Again, thank you, Bunty." He applied himself to pouring some tea.

The Bunty stood still. It was as if she had to make herself leave. Pick really wanted her to go, he wanted to have his talk with his Newt-tree alone. He sensed that tension again, the tension he often sensed when the witch was near his tree. He didn't think his Newt-tree was aware of it at all. It was another way these humans could be really weird. "Later, then," the Bunty said shortly, and disappeared down the hall.

Pick made a short chirp to reclaim Newt's attention. Newt swallowed a bite of sandwich and asked, "So what's going on?"

"Newt," began Pickett, "I've decided…I really need to be with you at all times. I just do. A proper bowtruckle is almost never separated from their tree. That's all there is to it." He stood as tall and resolute on the bookshelf as he could.

His tree looked up at him with a sterner look on his face than usual. "We've talked about this before."

"I know, and we always wind up doing what _you_ want." Here came his new tack of argument. "I – don't think that's fair. I thought…I thought we had a partnership here."

His tree froze as he was about to take another sip of tea. "We do, Pick." Newt's voice was soft; he sounded slightly hurt.

Pick was dismayed, but he wanted to stick to his point. "Well, then, it seems to me that partners, you know, give and take."

"Look here, Pickett, it's not as if I want to tell you what to do," his tree said a bit defensively. "It's not like that at all, you must know that. But I have a responsibility, to look out for you –"

" _I_   have a responsibility to look after _you!"_ cried Pick, long arms akimbo on his three-legged hips. "You are my _tree_. I am a _tree guardian._ A TREE GUARDIAN, Newt! You've known us bowtruckles since you were a little twig…or child…or whatever. You know what we're like. You know what I need to do! But you won't let me! Newt! This is _not_ a partnership!"

Pick was speaking more seriously to his tree than he ever had before. In response Newt was becoming, to Pickett's surprise, rather flummoxed. He stared at Pick for a moment, then spluttered, "It's – it's just that it's dangerous, some of the things I do, some of the places I go. I know that, and I know what I'm doing, and I can take care of myself –"

"- _except_ for when you need my help!" cried Pick. "Tell me I haven't gotten us out of some real messes!"

_"Of course_ you have, Pick, I've _told_ you, how many times? – how grateful I am to you. I – I couldn't do without you!"

This open declaration took the bowtruckle aback. He studied his tree's earnest, slightly embarrassed face for a few seconds. Then he cheeped quietly, "And I need you too. You are my tree, and I'll never want another besides you. That's just the way it is. But think about it! I've proved myself how many times? But if you have any idea something may be risky, you dump me on the wiggam tree! Do you really believe _I_ can't take care of _myself?"_

His tree said, "I just can't take you everywhere. If anything happened to you –"

"- it would be part of my duty. It would be what I'm born to do. It's in a guardianship. It's part of the deal. I mean this. Do you think I love it when you do all the mad things you do? Do you think I don’t sometimes wish you were a proper tree, and just stayed in one place and made my life a lot easier? But when I chose you, Newt-tree, I knew I'd have to take you _the way you are._ I knew you can be, well, pretty foolish." He watched Newt's eyebrows climb but plowed on. "You run around and get into trouble and do dangerous things and go to dangerous places. _But I still chose you._ Our partnership sure isn't the usual bowtruckle-tree arrangement. But if I wanted that, I would have parked myself on some real tree. There's lots to pick from. What I'm trying to say is, _I'm with you._ That's the whole point. I need to be with you. To look out for you. And, I suppose, I have to let you look out for me. Sometimes. But it's gotta be half-and-half! On both sides! _That's_ a partnership."

The pair sat with quiet gathering around them. As was usual for Newt, he didn't meet Pickett's eyes when he finally began to speak. Gazing at his half-eaten sandwich, he said, "I'll be honest with you; I guess I've never looked at things quite from the bowtruckle point of view, Pick. I thought I did; I thought I understood your needs…"

"You do, Newt. You do understand," Pickett said. "but just take it a little further."

His tree sighed. "I should have known what I was getting into when I started keeping you with me."

"Maybe. You've always liked to make it more about my needs than yours…even when that really wasn't what was going on." When Newt looked at him, he continued, "I only had a cold _once_ , Newt." His Newt-tree smiled gently.

After another silence, Newt spoke again. "All right, then. I shall have to get used to it, but it appears you are going to be coming with me…"

Headleaves pricked high, the bowtruckle squeaked, "You don't leave the house without me? You'll wake me up if you have to? Where you go, I go? No matter what?"

"We have a deal," his Newt-tree nodded.


End file.
